Page 78 of Dark Mafia Heir

Shots ring out around us, and I throw a glance to Lorenzo. “Ritirasi!” Fall back.

He gives a curt nod, and I focus on Vivienne. “Keep your head down!” I shield her with my body, as we dart between panicking guests.

Her breath is ragged, panicked, and we’re almost to the car, where one of my men stands with his gun firing, when another shot cracks too close.

I shove Vivienne to the side, catching her before she stumbles, dragging her upright again. When my man sees us, he fires a shot above our head before fumbling with the doors.

When he wrenches the door open, we get in, and immediately, Vivienne wraps her trembling arms around me as the engines roar to life. Burying her face in my shirt, her rough sniffles disturb the silence as she cries her heart out, and I don’t try to stop her.

Pulling her close, I kiss her hair.

I don’t say anything. My pulse still pounds in my ears.

But the thought won’t leave my head.

I’m going to fucking kill Salvatore.

27

Vivienne

The first rays of sunlight warm my face, and the gentle sound of waves lapping against the shore stirs me awake. My eyes flutter open, and I’m met with a breathtaking view through the glass walls of the room.

The endless expanse of the ocean stretches before me, its surface glistening like scattered diamonds under the early morning sun.

I sit up slowly, the soft linen sheets pooling around my waist. The air smells of salt and something fresh, like jasmine.

My gaze sweeps across the room—minimalist yet luxurious, with whitewashed walls and rustic wooden furniture. My bed is massive, draped with gauzy white curtains that billow slightly in the sea breeze coming through the open sliding doors.

Curiosity gets the better of me, and I swing my legs over the edge of the bed, my bare feet meeting the cool hardwood floor.

Nothing here looks or smells familiar.

The soft rustling sound reminds me that I’m wearing one of Antonio’s oversized shirts, the fabric brushing my thighs asI move. I vaguely recall him draping it over me last night after insisting I rest.

The scent of freshly brewed coffee wafts in from somewhere, drawing me toward the open-concept kitchen and living space. But it’s the view that captures my breath. Just beyond the living room is a sprawling deck, complete with a small infinity pool that seems to spill directly into the ocean.

I step out onto the deck, the wood warm beneath my feet. The sand is just a few steps away, golden and untouched, as if this little stretch of paradise belongs only to us.

“Good morning,gattina,” Antonio’s voice cuts through the serenity, deep and rich like the coffee I smell.

I turn to find him leaning against the doorframe, a steaming cup in one hand and that ever-present intensity in his eyes.

He’s dressed casually, barefoot like me, with the top buttons of his linen shirt undone. The sight of him here, so relaxed, feels almost surreal.

“Where are we?” I ask, my voice still rough with sleep. I can’t remember much from last night. I remember chaos erupting at the party and Antonio whisking me away from it, but the last memory I have is falling asleep in the car.

He takes a step toward me, his expression softening. “Somewhere safe,” he says simply, handing me the cup of coffee. His fingers brush mine, lingering for a moment longer than necessary. “I bought this place for when I need to get away from the chaos in our world.”

I take a sip, the warmth spreading through me. It’s surprising how I don’t feel nauseous to the smell of it, nor do I feel the urge to throw up. “It’s beautiful,” I whisper, looking back at the horizon.

“So are you,” he replies, his voice low. And when I glance up at him, there’s something in his eyes that makes me believe he means what he’s just said.

Butterflies flutter in my stomach, and if I weren’t early into my pregnancy, I would have sworn it’s the baby dancing happily to the sound of its father’s voice.

My chest churns. I feel a mixture of guilt and fear. Guilt for keeping the truth away from him and fear that he may not accept our baby. What if he wants me to abort it?

“Are you okay?” he asks, his gentle voice dragging me back to the present.

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